And he’s
off, moving, beetling,
Starting at
the top of the house
The hard
leather soles tapping
Closer,
closer, each room in turn
Visited,
emptied, purged,
And in the
kitchen, the lid
Flicks down
and up and down
In a suffocated
fluttering rage
As the
house shrinks tighter,
Tighter, space
itself constricts
And I’m locked fast bracing,
Bracing as
he finally tells me
In that
tone, pinched, loaded,
Pious, he’s
cleaning my bin.